


First Lust, First Love

by weepingwillow



Series: Merlin Memory Month Fics [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is still a Celt, M/M, VIKINGS AU, Well almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingwillow/pseuds/weepingwillow
Summary: Arthur can pinpoint the first time he realised he liked men. He can also pinpoint the moment in his life that he realised he'd never have to search for one again.





	First Lust, First Love

Arthur can pinpoint the first time he realised he liked men. He was still very young, then. He'd drawn the sword from the stone, he'd sat on his horse for men to gather around him, and then he'd ridden with them into their first battle.

 

He remembers the light that spilled out of the stone as he drew out the verdigris-green sword, as easy as taking one from a scabbard. He remembers how afraid he had been of the power in that stone, how he had stumbled back and into the hands of his foster father, his kingmaker. He remembers the awe of the crowd, his true father's warriors and advisers standing there in the front, as the stone itself proclaimed him King.

 

After that there was a lot of waiting, he remembers. Sitting uncomfortably on horses, covered in expensive mail, his golden hair uncovered like a crown. He had been a human banner, a rallying point for the noble folk his father had once controlled. He had hated it.

 

Once the sides had been drawn, the battle engaged, Arthur had insisted he fight. He was a lot smarter than they gave him credit for, though he hid it underneath bravado and childish arrogance he knew that a puppet warrior would become a puppet king. He had heard tell of those, in the hands of the Danes. He would not cower when he was bred to lead.

 

He had been encased in a protective ring of warriors and, even then, he knew that his training had done nothing to prepare him for the fight. They assaulted uphill, against spiked wooden palisades, and when they had broken Arthur and the mounted warriors had ridden in. And slaughtered.

 

Arthur's horse kept slipping on the blood. It was chaos, men hacking and slashing and stabbing at the horses, swords sweeping down to split skulls. Someone tried to kill Arthur's horse and he took his sword and hit out wildly, until the man was dead. He killed again, he knew, but he did not count the deaths before the quiet.

 

Prisoners were rounded up, with them the lord who had refused Arthur’s summons. He was flung to Arthur's feet, and Arthur doesn't remember what he said - whether he called for mercy or sent that man to hell - but he does remember what happened next. It had been carnage, worse even than the battle, he thought. The men were unstoppable, raiding the inns for ale and mead, rifling through houses for small treasures and for women. He'd stood in the middle of the street and he hadn't known the words to get them to stop. He was their leader and now, the battle over, he had control over none of them.

 

It was there that Arthur saw it happen. One of his warriors, one who had saved his life in the battle, emerged from a little cottage dragging a boy the same age as Arthur, on his knees, into the street. He shoved the boy’s back against a low stone trough and he held him there with his knees while he pulled up his tunic and tugged down his trews, then held his jaw open with a firm grip around the back of his neck. He fucked his cock in, hard and swollen in the blood lust, and though the boy squirmed and hit out at him in obvious anguish, Arthur could watch nothing else. Could think of nothing else, despite everything that had happened that day. He felt his pulse quicken, felt the heat of him drop to his own dick as he imagined what it would feel like to be that man, to hold a boy close to him, and to take…

 

\---

 

There weren't many who knew what Arthur liked to do with men. To the world, he was an attentive husband. To his court, he was something else.

 

There was little gossip; Arthur paid his bedmates enough in favour and gifts to ensure that, but somehow word spread. Warriors would visit at feasts, kneel in his hall before his table on his dais and they would pledge to serve him  _ in any way you like, my lord _ . And Arthur would know them willing, and he would find them after the feast when they were drunk and they would kneel before him or offer their arses up into the air with a smirk, certain that the were getting the best out of the deal. Arthur would take a deep breath and would pretend they wanted it, wanted him, for something other than power and glory.

 

Still, he liked them better than the servants. They were pretty, perhaps a little too muscled and tanned, but pretty all the same. The servants were just there, and they were easy to keep quiet after the fact, even if not during.

 

“Ah, my lord, please, more-”

 

Arthur had had a terrible day. Guinevere had revealed that her pregnancy was a false alarm, so he would have to bed her again, an act neither of them enjoyed. Nevertheless, there had been a feast that night, in honour of a guest who never arrived. He had been reliably informed by a girl in his court with some small magic that Merlin, the great warlock who had been behind the sword in the stone, a man unimaginably old and powerful, would be leaving his vigil in the crystal cave that Woden’s day and coming to Arthur. Now, a few minutes to midnight, he was late.

 

“Yes, my lord, you feel so good, so big-”

 

Arthur had half a mind to turn him over and fuck his mouth just to get him to shut up. At least George was enjoying it, Arthur thought, even if his enthusiasm was a bit too exaggerated for Arthur's tastes.

 

“Really?” came a voice from behind him, from around the region of the locked and guarded door that led into Arthur's own private space at the back of the hall, “That simpering really gets you going? And there I was thinking that you were a different sort of King.”

 

Arthur was pulling out even before the voice had finished speaking, reaching for Excalibur where she hung on a post beside his bed. He turned and stood before the intruder, naked but for a thin line of steel in his hand, his still hard cock bobbing in the cold air.

 

George shuffled frantically across the bed, looking to hide himself, like he'd be any kind of target in a room where the King of the Britons stood. The intruder laughed at the sight and held up his hands. No weapons. Nothing hanging from his belt. He was a slim man, young, dark-haired and pale skinned. His eyes reflected the firelight so that Arthur couldn't work out whether they were blue or amber. His cheekbones shadowed his skin in the flickering light, down to pink, plump lips. He looked like that boy in the street from so many years ago, but stronger, powerful, capable. He lounged against the door, but even in that stance it was clear that he was the one in control of the situation.

 

Arthur assessed the danger and set down his sword. It was clear that, while this man had no knife, no spear, he was incredibly dangerous - in the way of magic. How else could he have got into the room without a fight? He probably just flew as a bird through the small window. The man smiled.

 

“I did say that I'd come today.”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur said simply. He crossed over to a group of chairs in front of the brazier, where his trews hung haphazardly, thrown there in his haste to get to bed. “Leave us,” he told George, and ignored the scurrying of his exit.

 

Arthur turned his back on Merlin. He didn't like to do it, but he had to get some clothes on to disguise the fact that his cock, which should have flagged at the first sign of danger, was still as hard as it had ever been.

 

“Don't do that,” Merlin said. Arthur heard his footsteps come closer, heard the door open and close as George left. Arthur turned abruptly to follow Merlin’s progress with his own eyes.

 

“And why not?” he asked, summoning as much authority into his voice as a naked King can muster.

 

“Maybe I'm enjoying the view,” Merlin said, but his teasing tone was softened by the shiver that ran through him. His hands drifted up as if moving without command, touched his neck. He undid the brooch holding his cloak around his shoulders, a dragon eating its own tail, and lay it on the floor in front of the brazier. It exposed his collarbones, frail and jutting. Arthur had to swallow hard.

 

“Come here,” he said to Arthur, a plea and not a command, “Here, by the fire.”

 

“What are you-” Arthur spluttered, frozen in place by his confusion.

 

“Now why would I come here, I who can turn into a dragon at will, in the form you'd find most pleasing if I didn't want to please you?” There were laces at the top of his shirt and Merlin started undoing them with long fingers.

 

“No,” Arthur said, before the thoughts had really processed, “Stop, I want to.”

 

“There you are,” Merlin praised him, smiling indulgently as Arthur stepped over and knelt next to him, close enough to hold the bottom of Merlin's shirt and pull it off.

 

His chest was everything Arthur could want. So pale it looked like his skin had never seen sun. He looked even slimmer without clothes, and Arthur could see the line where his ribcage ended and his stomach hollowed just a little beneath. Arthur watched him breathe until Merlin huffed in impatience and leant over, stroked down Arthur's hip towards his dick with the tip of one long finger. Arthur's breath caught, and he was ready to drop back, let Merlin do whatever he wanted, until Merlin pulled away again and grinned.

 

“I'm still wearing something,” Merlin said. Clumsily, Arthur reached forwards to take his trews off and, if one of the gods could remove trews from the entire world, Arthur swore in that moment he’d be so grateful. His fingers didn't want to obey simple commands, and the fabric clung to the muscles of Merlin's thighs and calves as he dragged them down.

 

“Can't you just- magic-” Arthur said in frustration.

 

“When this is so fun?” Merlin asked, and with a surprising strength he hauled Arthur over on top of him as the last inch of fabric came free.

 

And then all mirth was gone from Merlin's face as their bodies slid alongside each other’s. He gasped out, and Arthur felt much the same. He hadn't had a chance to get a good look at Merlin's dick as he undressed, but he could feel it alongside his own, the curls of hair at the base, the soft skin. It felt long when he shifted his hips, desperate to get back to some sort of friction.

 

“Not just yet, there,” Merlin said, his voice quiet with how breathless he was. Then he lifted his head up to Arthur and kissed him.

 

Arthur had never been kissed like that before. Merlin's mouth was hot and wet and his lips felt rich and soft. He tasted of wine. His tongue was teasing, at first, before plundering Arthur’s mouth. Arthur didn't know how long they kissed for, but he knew when it was done he was pressing Merlin into the floor with his want, and he was leaking all over Merlin's stomach, and his nipples ached with want. Merlin's hands came up to push Arthur back, and he looked just as ruined. He'd been groaning, Arthur knew, and Arthur could feel his hips moving in tiny increments. Merlin let his hands slip down from Arthur's shoulders to his chest, fingers seizing his nipples and twisting a deeper ache into them. Arthur arched his head back and cried out.

 

“Yes, love,” Merlin murmured, the words falling out of his lips, “Oh, it's been such a long journey, I have missed you.” Arthur had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he didn't much care, pushing a hand between them to try to get them off. But Merlin grabbed it by the wrist, stopping him.

 

“Not yet, Arthur. I have other ideas.” He held out his hand and Arthur didn't know how he did it but the jar of oil he'd used to prepare George sailed over and straight into his palm. Merlin gave it to Arthur.

 

“For me,” Merlin said, “Do me.”

 

Arthur couldn't scramble to his knees fast enough. Merlin raised his knees, held them to his chest, exposing himself. He looked just as good as Arthur had expected, longer than Arthur but a little narrower too. His balls hung down, half obscured by dark hair, and underneath, the pinkish knot of his hole. Arthur covered his fingers in oil and pressed two in at once in his eagerness.

 

“Arthur,” Merlin groaned, “Oh fuck, yes.”

 

He was careful, if not slow, spreading his fingers before adding another, working them deeper. Merlin was keening in obvious pleasure, his head turned to one side and half buried in the deep blue of the cloak. Arthur judged him ready and slid his fingers out, covered himself in oil, and turned to find Merlin gone.

 

“Here,” Merlin’s voice said from behind him, “Sit in front of the fire, I want to-” He didn't have a chance to finish, Arthur had moved so quickly. Merlin lowered himself back onto Arthur, his back to Arthur's chest, so they both faced the brazier. He stopped when the head of Arthur's dick found his hole and took it slow from there, inch by shuddering inch, until Arthur could take it no more and snapped his hips up into him.

 

“I'm sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said, to which Merlin shook his head.

 

“More,” he said, “So good.” Arthur was more than happy to give him that and he planted his feet, set himself a rhythm, and fucked up hard. Merlin groaned, one long sound punctuated with gasps each time Arthur moved. Arthur felt it vibrating through his cock, felt how hot and tight Merlin was, and knew it wouldn't last long.

 

He looked down at Merlin, arched back against Arthur's chest, one arm bent up and back, the hand in Arthur's hair, the other hand playing idly with his balls. They were high and tight, Arthur could see, and the thought of how close Merlin was too, the sight of him pleasuring himself was more than Arthur thought he could stand. He turned his head, buried his face in Merlin's neck to kiss him, and felt his lips tingle with the sounds Merlin was making. That wasn't going to work out for long, either, so he looked into the fire, and found the flames moving, pulsing, with Merlin's pleasure.

 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “Merlin, this won't last.” Arthur said the name unsteadily but Merlin tugged his dick hard when he did, so Arthur assumed he liked it.

 

“Come whenever you want,” Merlin told him, so he stopped trying to draw it out, just fucked hard and unrelenting into Merlin. Merlin's hand grew tight in Arthur's hair, and the other he rested loosely around his dick, mostly just letting Arthur's movements work him closer and closer. Arthur turned his face back into Merlin's neck, biting down there as he came, the pleasuring running through his entire body like fire through his veins, wringing him out.

 

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin moaned, not stopping or even slowing his hand for Arthur's release. After a moment, Arthur found the coordination to slip a hand down low over Merlin's stomach, and obligingly Merlin dropped his hand lower, back down to cradle his balls and, Arthur felt the touch, play lightly with the raw edge of his hole. Arthur groaned, his dick thickening too soon again inside Merlin, and he squeezed his hand around Merlin's dick. It took only a few strokes until Merlin was coming, all over Arthur's hand.

 

Arthur collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. He watched lines of smoke rising up to the ceiling.

 

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

 

“Your new favourite thing,” Merlin said mischievously, and he jabbed Arthur in the ribs. Arthur glared up at him, as if to tell him he was far too awake.

 

“No,” Merlin said, “Come on now, Arthur, I've got important things to show you.” And he waved his hand, and images started to form in the motes of soot, but Arthur gave him a well-aimed shove and sent Merlin sprawling to the floor too.

 

“In the morning,” he insisted. Merlin rolled close to him and grinned.

 

“Alright.”

 

\---

  
Arthur can pinpoint the first time he realised he liked men. He can also pinpoint the moment in his life that he realised he'd never have to search for one again. It was there, holding Merlin to his chest, sated and half asleep in front of the fire. He hardly knew the man, but he could feel it, could tell that he was about to fall utterly and completely in love.


End file.
